"Forget about the circuit breakers, Mara. That's old news," he said, munching on a blueberry m.u.f.fin. "What are you working on there?"

Mara loaded some paper into the feeder tray and cranked the machine several times. It scooped up a sheet with each crank and spat it out on the other side of the drum into a flat receiving tray.

"It's not working," she said, holding up a sheet with a barely discernible purple smiley face on it. "Maybe there's some kind of setting on here I need to adjust."

"Dittos? You're kidding," Ping said. "Just give it a few more cranks. It'll start printing, I bet."

Mara cranked it a dozen more times and then the machine spat out a clearly printed purple smiley face. Ping grabbed it, held it to his face and inhaled. He sighed.

"What are you doing, trying to get high? It says online that stuff is toxic."

"Toxic. Everything's toxic nowadays. Don't you love the smell? It reminds me of being in school when I was a kid. Can I keep this?"

"Knock yourself out. You want some more? I can make up to five hundred without reloading."

"No, one is enough."

"What's up? I'm a.s.suming you didn't come over here to catch a buzz from sniffing my smiley faces."

"Actually I have two jobs for you."

Mara frowned. "I told you guys I'm not interested in your blue ball of light or any of that other hinky stuff from our last conversation," she said, pointing a screwdriver for emphasis.

"No problem. Sam and I ran up to Seattle yesterday to a restaurant surplus supply warehouse and bought some equipment, which they already dropped off this morning. Unfortunately the mixer they delivered emits a burning smell when it is running. I hoped you would have time to look at it. I'll pay your going rate."

"Why don't you bring it over, and I'll take a look," she said, continuing to work on the old printing device, tightening some screws on the paper-feeding platform.

"That would be a little inconvenient. It is an industrial floor mixer. It probably weighs as much as a small car."

"Oh, sorry. Of course. I'll come over in about an hour. I've got to finish this and work on a projector, then I'll be good to go."

"Excellent. It is much appreciated."

"What was the other thing you wanted me to do?"

"Other thing?"

"You said you had two jobs for me."

"Oh, right. I have some coffee samples for you to try out."

"Perfect timing. I'll be ready for my afternoon pick-me-up."

Ping's ceramic store was gone. Crews had cut huge holes from the exterior walls of the building, framed them with aluminum and mounted sheets of gla.s.s over the entire front and sides of the establishment. Inside, all the walls had been removed and the old retail shelves were gone. Carpenters pounded away walling off the kitchen in the back from the customer area where new counters and lit display cases had already been installed. The s.p.a.ce already looked more like a bakery than the retail ceramic-tile-and-fixtures business it had been.

Sam, wearing a blue Woody Woodp.e.c.k.e.r T-shirt, looked up from a counter and waved. "Hey, Mara. Ping is in the back. Just go through there." He pointed toward a wide opening in the wall behind the counters.

Mara nodded at the inside of his forearm, to an ill.u.s.tration of a serpent wrapped around a staff. "I didn't notice that before. Aren't you kind of young to have a tattoo?"

"My mother didn't think so. She had it done when I was born." Sam lowered his arm and held it to his side, hiding the drawing. His face turned pink, and the sprinkle of freckles on his cheeks darkened.

"I didn't mean to embarra.s.s you. I wasn't being critical. I like tattoos if they are well done. That one looks very artistic, well rendered."

"Thanks." Sam looked away.

Mara placed her tool kit on the floor next to a counter. "What have you been up to over here?" She looked around the room.

"Oh, man, all kinds of stuff," he said. "You see that light fixture there?" He looked up to a flat white saucer at the end of a chrome tether. "I installed that."

Sam took her on a quick tour of the new bakery, detailing where all the counters, fixtures and tables were to be placed. He paused several times to talk more about the projects he had completed himself.

Mara smiled and nodded appropriately. After the quick tour, he returned to work, and she walked into the back to find Ping wiping out newly installed metal cabinets. She smelled coffee, dramatically raised her nose to the air and smiled. "That smells wonderful."

"Help yourself," he said as Mara crossed the room to a counter holding a bank of four coffee brewers and six pump carafes next to a tray of cups, lids and condiments. "There are four brands for you to try. I'm sure you are familiar with most of them, but I thought a taste test would be fun."

She walked over and fixed a cup. "Where is this mixer that is too big to move?"

Ping pointed to another corner.

The mixer stood nearly as tall as Mara and featured a red Hobart label screwed onto the rounded gray housing hanging over a huge metal mixing bowl. Her eyes widened. "That is a big mixer. I see why you wanted a house call."

"Have you ever worked on one before?"

"No, but a motor is a motor. Let me drink some courage here, and we'll see what we can do to tame that beast."

After spreading the bowl, beaters, casing, plates and a.s.sorted other parts across the floor, Mara examined the inner workings of the mixer. She confirmed the appliance gave off a burning smell when powered up. It might just be grit or dust in the mechanism that would burn off after one or two uses, or it could need a new coil.

"Does it bother you if people talk to you while you work?" Ping asked while she eyeballed some of the appendages extending from the motor.

"Depends on what they are talking about, I suppose." She didn't look at him.

"Have you always had an apt.i.tude for mechanics and technology?"

"As long as I can remember, I always loved taking things apart and fixing them."

"So is your interest in seeing how they work or in repairing them?"

"What's the difference?"

"One is about curiosity, how things work. The other is about satisfaction, making broken things work again. Which is it?"

"I suppose I'd go with the second option. I generally don't take things apart that work simply to figure them out. I like the challenge of fixing things. Figuring out how they operate is usually not that much of a challenge. I have a knack for that. Making something work again after it's been damaged, that's the challenge."

"So you're a mechanical healer of sorts."

"That's an overly romanticized way of putting it, I guess." Mara stopped working for a second and rested her arm on top of the mixer. "If something is broken, I fix it. It's what I do. I'm not sure there is more to it than that."

"Oh, I suspect there's great deal more to it than that," Ping said, smiling. "Tell me, do you have an apt.i.tude for mathematics?"

"I never struggled with it in school, but it didn't interest me particularly. Why?"

"What about music? Do you play an instrument? Any talent there?"

"No. Again I never had an interest. The odd thing is I learned to read music very quickly. I had a friend who played the clarinet, and she taught me in a couple minutes." Mara pushed herself up from leaning on the mixer. "I can still read it and hear the tune in my head. Weird, huh? Again, why do you ask? I feel like I'm being a.s.sessed."

"I was trying to get to know you better. Mechanical abilities are not that far removed from mathematical or musical abilities. Although I have to admit, your talents are more practical than the typical mathematician or musician, not to say those don't have their practical applications occasionally."

Mara raised an eyebrow at him. "Anyway, you need a new coil. I can order it for you and let you know when it can be installed."

"What do you-"

A crash of gla.s.s reverberated throughout the empty shop. Mara and Ping ran to the front. Sam stood red faced on a ladder. The top of one of the gla.s.s display cases was shattered.

"Oh, man, I am sorry," he said. "One of the construction guys left a hammer up here on the ledge. I climbed up to get it and dropped it."

"Are you all right?" Ping asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Don't worry about it. We can get a new plate of gla.s.s cut for the case. No big deal," he said.

"He is a one-man wrecking crew, isn't he?" Mara asked, smiling.

"He's just at that age where his arms and legs have more length than coordination," Ping said.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm standing right here," Sam said, climbing down the ladder.

Pushing open the gla.s.s front door with his forearms, Bruce stepped into the bakery holding up black-smeared hands in front of a green T-shirt bearing a bicycle and the caption Sit on Your b.u.t.t and Do Something.

"Wow. You have really ripped this place apart." He smiled at Ping, then turned to Mara. "A couple cops are next door asking for you."

CHAPTER 20.

THE PHONE RANG as Mara squeezed past the two men in suits milling around the shop. Once she stood behind the counter, she faced them, held up a finger and picked up the black handset. The older of the two investigators, the one with the military haircut and the dead eyes, looked put out. He stared at Mara, furrowing his brow. His lips were pressed together, and his square jaw jutted. She confirmed to Mrs. Dalton that her mimeograph and projector would be ready by Friday noon and hung up.

"Ms. Lantern, I'm Ethan Suter with the FBI, and this is Detective Daniel Bohannon with the Portland Police Department." He tilted his head toward the burly sandy-headed man next to him. "We are working with the NTSB to investigate the accident on Flight 559 last week."

"Okay. What can I do for you?" she said.

"We're interviewing some of the pa.s.sengers to see if we can determine the cause of the accident. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the flight and what you remember."

"I'm not sure how much help I would be but ask away."

"Do you remember seeing anything unusual as the plane departed and took off?"

"Unusual how?"

"Anyone acting strangely? Any events occur that were out of the ordinary? Anything odd at all?"

"Not that I recall. I settled in for a nap as soon as I sat down. I didn't see anything leading up to the crash."

"You're saying you slept through the whole thing?"

"Pretty much."

"Ms. Lantern, from what we understand talking to other pa.s.sengers, there was a period of pandemonium in the cabin prior to the crash. You don't recall any of that?"

"I don't. I took a nap, and then I woke up in the hospital with a head injury. If I woke up before that, I don't remember it."

"So you don't remember seeing any lights in the cabin? People panicking?" Suter asked. Mara shook her head. "Did you see a red-headed boy running in the aisle or anything like that?"

"Absolutely not."

The bell above the front door jangled, and Sam stepped in, holding Mara's coffee she had left at Ping's place. "I thought you might want this," he said, walking over to the counter.

The two investigators glared at him.

He set the coffee down and backed away. "Sorry for the interruption."

"What's your name, young man?" Suter asked.

He hesitated for a second and then said, "Sam."

"What's your last name, Sam?"

"Lantern."

Mara's heart skipped a beat.

"You're her brother?"

"Yes."

"Were you on the flight to San Francisco with Mara last week?"

Mara held her breath.

"No, I was not on the flight to San Francisco," Sam said.